


It Shouldn't Work, But It Does

by Felixbug



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Hand Jobs, Lyrium, M/M, Oral Sex, Trans Character, Trans!Fenris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:18:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4200630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felixbug/pseuds/Felixbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It responds to him – to the Fade – lighting against his lips as he follows each glowing trail and Fenris gasps and trembles above him. Justice wonders if it is too much – begins to pull away – and a grasp of fingers in his hair pulls him back down. He grips Fenris’s hips as he descends, tracing the intricate patterns that cover each of Fenris’s long, lean legs, dragging his tongue up almost to the juncture of his thighs but stopping short as Fenris whines sharply and bucks his hips.</i>
</p>
<p>Written for a Tumblr prompt asking for Justice licking Fenris's lyrium lines. Slight angst, and slightly more smut ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Shouldn't Work, But It Does

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to all the loud Fenders enablers on my Tumblr ;) I'd sat on this prompt for a while, and figured I'd branch out a bit during #JusticePositive. Not my usual ship but I wanted to give it a try - this was meant to be a quick warm-up ficlet so it's different from my normal style and a little rough around the edges, but I had fun :P Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Brief references to past trauma, nothing detailed, mention of scars, very mild/implied Anders/Justice that wasn't worth putting in the pairing tag.

It shouldn’t work, but it does. Mortal desires were foreign to Justice at first – intense, almost frightening, as sensation builds until it’s close to pain. But Anders wants this – needs it – and they have found comfort in the mingled space between their minds. They are not Anders and they are not Justice, they are heat and tension and gasping breath as Anders’ hand – it is still _his_ hand, not _theirs,_ not quite – wraps around his length.

It’s a sweltering Kirkwall night, and the Darktown air is stuffy and oppressive, the walls too close and the ceilings too low – but Justice is with Anders, and that helps. Anders knows what they need – what he needs, and Justice has always claimed not to but begins to crave, fluttering eagerly in Anders’ mind. He strokes himself quickly, his sweat-slick body glowing in the light of the single candle. Justice hums within his mind, pressing up against the surface to feel every stroke, every teasing glide of fingers over the glistening tip, and the way Anders’ bitten-off moan vibrates in his throat.

Anders’ mind wanders, and Justice allows himself the same. They delve into different memories – Anders remembering flesh and heat and low, desperate moans, while Justice has desires of his own. He remembers a ring – in a dead man’s skin he shouldn’t have been able to feel anything, but he _did_. He felt the weight of it against his palm, long-dead flesh awakening to its touch, and he felt the song. High and howling, a sound so strong he could feel its hum against his mind and a tangible coil of it around his soul. He thinks how it would feel to touch it again in a mortal body – how it would feel combined with Anders’ fantasies, of warm brown skin under his hands and glowing blue lines flaring against his tongue.

Anders pauses – the unbearably sweet friction halted – and Justice feels his curiosity nudging at their thoughts. He wonders if the fantasy was his, chases it to the source, and finds Justice and his confusion. Justice wonders if he will stop – if he will be angry, or afraid – but none of those things happen. Anders groans, his eyes fall closed, and when he spills over his hand they are united in their thoughts of wide green eyes and shimmering, humming, singing white tattoos.

***

They’re arguing again – of magisters and Templar torture, of blood magic and of children stolen from their families, and then of _wild dog_ and _crazed abomination_ and Justice has had _enough._ His frustration carries him forward – he will make them talk, make them understand, they have both suffered and the way they tear at each other is not fighting their real enemies – his skin flares burning blue…

And Justice falls silent.

Fenris has recoiled from him – they are alone in the alleyway, staring each other down, blue light playing over the grimy walls. Fenris’s lip has curled, his eyes have narrowed – and his tattoos are _alive._ They glow, they hum, they burn – they _sing._ Justice is speechless, he is captivated, and he knows not to touch without this mortal’s consent but his desire carries him forward a step before he catches himself, groans low in his throat, and falls to his knees with a shudder. Justice’s eyes fall closed as he lets the song wrap around him, sink into him – and when Anders reclaims his body, Fenris is gone.

***

It is the next day that they see each other again – Justice through Anders’ wary eyes as Fenris stalks into the clinic. He looks over Anders with a scowl, and immediately turns to leave. Anders follows him – confronts him – and Fenris makes a confession Justice did not expect – he was concerned.

It was Anders he was concerned for, not Justice – but Justice is used to this, and flutters happily in Anders’ mind as Fenris lays a hand on his arm and stares intently at his face. He speaks of demons – of mages losing themselves to forces they cannot control – and Justice is angry, he is hurt, but he cannot lie to himself and he knows that he is grateful. He would not hurt Anders, but their situation is not always easy. Anders needs someone to stand at his side – to help him when Justice is overwhelmed, and becomes overwhelming in response.

“I don’t need help,” Anders spits, and Justice bristles at the lie.

“You are afraid.”

It shouldn’t work, but it does – Fenris’s gentle tone breaking through Anders’ shell and he steps away, breaking the contact, tearing Justice from the resonating hum of Fenris’s lyrium-lined hand. He presses a hand over his mouth and he’s shaking, heart pounding, and Justice readies himself to catch him if he falls. He knows this panic – he knows, too, that he is sometimes the cause – and wishes that things could be different.

“When he takes over like that – it’s hard,” Anders admits. He’s trying to keep his composure, but Fenris’s brow furrows – he can see his terror, and he steps forward again. “It’s like being locked in the dark again and I…”

“This is hard for you to think about,” Fenris says. His concern is gone, a closed-off expression clouding his face. He cannot let himself see Anders this way – cannot see him as a victim, only as a magister-to-be, and he flinches back as if burned. Justice howls in Anders’ mind at the loss.

***

There is blood on their hands – on their coat, on the ground. It is everywhere, splashed thick and metallic over their lips and into their mouth. Anders is horrified, but Justice is not – it is all that divides them as they straighten up, victorious, minds in perfect harmony as they look over the carnage. The slavers are all dead, and their eyes meet Fenris’s across their corpses. Their green is lit in blazing blue – reflecting his own light and Justice’s as he approaches, shoulders hunched and arms tense – he is ready to attack, to run, to do whatever he must. Justice does not back down from him – Hawke and Isabela feel very distant as the world narrows to black armour, bare feet that move elegantly over the blood-soaked earth, and white hair stained with gore.

“Mage, are you still with us?”

And Justice _hurts –_ the song is chaos in his mind, the ache in his heart feels like a wound, and this time it is his hand that reaches out and closes on Fenris’s arm as his gaze blazes down into the elf’s wide, shocked eyes.

“You cannot see me,” Justice says. The lyrium snaps and sears against his hand, making his eyes prick with tears and his knees shake. He would worship this mortal if he allowed it – but it is Anders he has warmed to, Justice is still an obstacle between them, the one thing that holds him back from allowing himself to trust a mage. “You only see _him._ ”

***

Justice had always thought that if this happened it would be Anders who was chosen when Fenris leads them to his bed – Anders’ hands cupping Fenris’s sharp jaw as he kisses him, Anders’ hardness straining against the fabric of his trousers, Anders’ voice breaking into a roughened gasp as Fenris draws back. But Fenris wants them both, and they both want him, and when Justice flares to the surface in a blaze of blue, Fenris simply smirks and draws him close.

Fenris needs control – he warned them of this, and Justice is happy to agree. Justice sits on the bed – he’s nervous, and so is Anders, but they’re where they want to be. They watch Fenris shed spiked gauntlets, unbuckle his armour, and his fingers pause at the edge of his undershirt.

“I am – I do not know the word. If there even is a word.” His brow furrows, and he sets his jaw hard. “If I am not to your liking, go.”

He tugs his undershirt off over his head first, revealing coiled lyrium markings over taut muscle, and a supportive band laced tightly around his chest. He meets Justice’s gaze as he loosens the laces down the front and shrugs it off, revealing the soft curve of his chest. Justice cannot speak, enraptured as every new inch of bare skin is revealed, and with no more hesitation Fenris slides the tight leggings down over his slender hips and narrow, muscled thighs. He kicks them off and stands naked and unashamed in the candlelight. His markings do not flare, but they reflect the light and gleam where they twist and curl over his mucles, coiling over his hips and down between his legs, tapering to a deep V. Justice meets his eyes, and Fenris’s fierce glare dares him to comment – to care – to reject him. It is what he expects, but he refuses to be ashamed. It is that, more than anything, that makes him breath-taking.

“Your body is beautiful.” Justice rises from the bed, and he kneels at his feet. Fenris’s breath catches, but this time he does not run. “I do not understand how any could think otherwise.”

“I am not like other men.”

“No two mortals are alike.” Justice gazes up at him in awe. “Nor should they wish to be.”

Fenris’s feet shift, his thighs part, and Justice waits for his invitation to run his hand up his thigh slowly, tracing the contours of the muscle, following the lyrium lines but not touching. He knows he must wait for that. They call to him, vibrating the air between them, tugging at the tension that pulls them closer, makes Fenris gasp at Justice’s touch, and a small, strong hand grips a handful of his hair.

“I want –“ Fenris’s voice catches. “I have never –“

“Nor have I.”

It is slow – slower than either of them want, but it is what they need. Fenris tells him where he can touch, and Justice explores his body at his command, kissing the smooth skin of his thighs, trailing soft sucks and nips over his hip bones, gripping his ass and kneading at the muscle until Fenris’s hips jerk and he grunts faintly.

He does not touch his chest – Fenris doesn’t tell him not to, but he doesn’t invite him either, and Justice can see the discomfort in his eyes when Justice’s eyes linger too long there. He ducks his gaze, and is careful to keep his eyes low. He will not be the cause of pain. He will _not._ Fenris touches his hair softly, but his grip turns hard when Justice’s hands trail reverently up his inner thighs and his fingertips brush the wetness that has slid over his skin.

“Undress,” Fenris says roughly, and Justice does – feeling Anders’ eagerness and nervousness in the back of his mind. He reveals secrets of his own – scars that twist his skin, the parts of himself he tries not to see, tries not to even think about – as well as the surprises he is proud of, twin gold rings in his nipples that gleam in the low light. Fenris looks down at him – presses his fingertip to Justice’s chin to raise it, and his expression is soft and affectionate.

“You can touch,” he says breathlessly. “The lyrium. I know it’s what you want.”

“I want you,” says Justice, but he’s trembling at the thought, cock aching between his thighs as he kneels up and brings his lips close to Fenris’s flat stomach. “All of you.” He lets his eyes fall closed, and presses his tongue to the calling, keening metal in his flesh.

It responds to him – to the Fade – lighting against his lips as he follows each glowing trail and Fenris gasps and trembles above him. Justice wonders if it is too much – begins to pull away – and a grasp of fingers in his hair pulls him back down. He grips Fenris’s hips as he descends, tracing the intricate patterns that cover each of Fenris’s long, lean legs, dragging his tongue up almost to the juncture of his thighs but stopping short as Fenris whines sharply and bucks his hips.

The hand in his hair tugs sharply, but Fenris’s growled command of _up_ is what hauls him to his feet. He’s thrust back against the wall, naked bodies tangling as Fenris flattens against his chest, pulls his head down, and kisses hard. Their bodies flare where they touch, blue burning almost  white as Justice’s essence claws to be closer to Fenris, and the lyrium in the elf’s skin aches and screams to be closer to the trace of the Fade that lives in him. They are meant to be – two broken beings torn from everything they knew that somehow found each other, somehow fitting together.

Fenris is flushed when their lips break apart, and he pulls Justice to bed with muttered growls of his name, of Anders’, and when they finally draw the firm nub of his clit into their mouth, they are both present to moan against him and taste the sharp, sweet taste of him on their tongue. Anders’ warning in his mind holds Justice back from slipping fingers into him – he is not sure if Fenris will want this – but Fenris feels their hesitation and wraps his fingers tightly around their wrist.

“Please,” he says. And then, moments later, back arched as his fist clenches in Justice’s hair. “ _Please._ ”

He bucks against their mouth, writhes against their hand, and Justice feels his climax in the high, scalding wail of his lyrium while Anders tastes the fluid that coats their lips and feels the tight clench of his cunt around their fingers. Fenris’s groan is rough and shaky, but even though his hands shake he wastes no time rolling them onto their back and wrapping his palm around their length.

“I’m not – I don’t…” He gasps – and Justice and Anders both admire the way his ears flush and his pupils are wide and dark. His markings flare so bright the light is blinding, more than daylight, more than a lightning strike. He is wreathed in light, more beautiful than ever like this – and Justice feels Anders’ pride that they have done this to him.

“You don’t have to,” Anders says – his voice breaking through even as Justice’s glow flares brighter under Fenris’s hands. “Nothing you don’t want.”

There are things Fenris wants – he growls them against their ear as he strokes them slowly. His words make Anders melt, and Justice presses his lips against the lyrium on his shoulder and hears a seductive whisper all of his own. He wants to suck them – feel them spill across his tongue – he wants to see them bent over the edge of the bed, ass spread wide as he sinks his fingers into them. He growls both their names, and runs his thumb over the head of their cock, and Anders whimpers as Justice snarls and they thrust up urgently into his grip.

Justice clings desperately to Fenris as he comes, Anders’ mind tangled with his as his thighs tense, chest heaves, and the thick glowing strands of his come cling to Fenris’s fingers. They bring Fenris’s fingers to their mouth and draw them between their lips, lapping the hot, sticky fluid away as Fenris groans and shifts closer to them. Anders swallows every trace – and Justice feels his thought that this is _Justice’s_ seed, not his, and how it makes his cock shift again against his thigh. When all that’s left is Fenris’s clean, damp skin, Justice laps at the lyrium, groaning as it tingles on his tongue.

Afterwards they lie in silence, darkness creeping in as Fenris’s markings return to chalky white and Justice eases back into Anders’ mind, basking in the satisfied glow in his thoughts. Both mortals are shaking, and Justice feels it right down to his core – it was more intense than he could have imagined. There is too much left unsaid between them – they have found uneasy common ground, but as Justice slips between Anders’ fears and insecurities, he wonders if it will be enough. They both have too much fear, they have lost too much – and Anders begins to pull away.

Fenris’s hand catches his wrist, and Anders turns back to him. His white hair is tousled, there is sweat beaded on his chest, and his eyes are wide and vulnerable.

“Stay?” he asks. “I don’t know if this can work…”

But it does. They lie together in a tangle of limbs, lips finding each other in the dark, hands sliding over skin, over scars, over the raised lines of lyrium tattoos, and it _does._


End file.
